


season six fix-it extravaganza

by janie_tangerine



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Dragons, F/M, Fix-It, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, House Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jon Snow knows something, M/M, Multi, Poor Theon, Season/Series 06, Season/Series 06 Spoilers, Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed, Sibling Love, The Author Regrets Nothing, The King in The North, Threesome - F/M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, in which the author attempts to fix what she could fix of S6 anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 05:24:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7346884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>in which I handily decided to put together all the various show fix-it fics/ficlets I wrote during this season of GOT on my tumblr.</p><p>D&D owe me a lot of alcohol. What you will find here:</p><p>1) Jon meets Robb in the afterlife before being brought back; (gen)<br/>2) Rickon meets Robb in the afterlife during 6x09; (gen)<br/>3) Jon and Sansa find a common agreement on how they should deal justice to Ramsay; (gen)<br/>4) Jon and Sansa reminiscing about better times post-6x09; (gen)<br/>5) Jon and Sansa share a *moment* after Jon is appointed king in the North; (gen but if you have shipper goggles it might work too)<br/>6) Theon goes back North after the kingsmoot; (gen)<br/>7) A different take on Theon and *Yara*'s conversation in 6x07; (gen)<br/>8) Theon accidentally acquires one of Dany's dragons, or maybe it's the other way around; (gen)<br/>9) Missandei and Grey Worm are interested in a threesome. Theon doesn't say no. (pseudo-threesome porn. Idek.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. robb & jon gen: they meet in the afterlife

**Author's Note:**

> So, I liked this season better than S5 for sure, but there still was stuff I wasn't too pleased with. I ended up writing a fair lot of fix-it fic either by prompting or because I just was that done with certain show decisions, so I figured I'd put all the shorter/randoms things here. Have fun, hopefully. :D
> 
> Premise: everything that doesn't deal with the Greyjoys-in-Essos storyline is actually serious and attempting to be somehow cathartic. Everything dealing with the Greyjoys-in-Essos is pure 100% crack treated seriously TM but I honestly don't even know how to react to that decision, so. (Also: I don't even know there the crack ot3 came from but I swear to whatever deity you want that there were reasons for it.)
> 
> This one specific ficlet was for an anon who prompted _Robb in the afterlife while Jon was dead? Jon feeling confused and betrayed and Robb hugging him and being "Now, you go back you hear me, Jon. Make me proud"_

He feels hot blood rising up in his mouth as he falls down to his knees

(and they’re saying _for the watch_ , aren’t they?)

and then everything goes black as he feels cold hard steel stab him again for what’s probably the last time, and he can’t believe it was his own _brothers_ , he can’t believe that they did it _he can’t believe they went as far he was only trying to do his best as he always has since he set foot in this godsforsaken castle forgotten by most gods and men and that’s not what he sacrificed everything for_ -

Everything goes dark.

He doesn’t expect to open his eyes again.

Then he does.

It’s always Castle Black’s yard. He’s lying down on the ground. It’s snowing but it’s not _cold_. He’s not breathing but he can see. And -

“When I said that next time I saw you you’d be all in black that was  _not_  what I meant, you know?”

Jon sits up at once, looking at his left where the voice came from, and it’s not possible because he hasn’t heard that voice in years -

Except that it is. Because he doesn’t know what’s going on here but  _Robb_  is here, wearing - not an armor, not even the clothes fit for a lord that he had on when they saw each other last, just a dark cloak and _gods it looks like what someone would wear at a wedding doesn’t it_?, and there are snowflakes melting in his hair and the smile headed his way is somewhat sad but he’s looking at him as if he’s  _really_  happy to see him once again.

“Robb?” He chokes out.

“Jon,” Robb says holding a hand out. “I was hoping I’d have to wait a lot longer, though.”

 _Wait a lot longer_  -

Right.

Because Robb is _dead_  and so is he, and Robb died because he was betrayed and stabbed in the back and _so was he_  -

He grabs Robb’s hand without even seeing anything because his eyes are too blurred with tears and then Robb is pulling him upwards and -

Somehow, it doesn’t really feel too different from the times when Robb had done the exact same thing when they were children a lifetime ago.

“ _Why_?” He chokes out against Robb’s shoulder as Robb hauls him closer. “I only tried to do the right thing, _why_?”

“I know,” Robb answers as his hands rub at Jon’s back, “believe me, I know even too well. I tried, too. Doing the right thing at all costs doesn’t pay back, I guess.”

Jon forces himself to move just enough to at least look back at Robb again - his eyes are still the Tully blue he remembered, but there’s white in his hair that’s not because of the snow, and there’s a scar on his neck and now that he looks at it, his cloak is torn in a couple of places.

He can’t bite back the sob that escapes his mouth a moment later. “I tried,” he chokes out.

“I know. I did, too. You think that being good and honorable will eventually make people see that they have to do the same, and it just - it doesn’t. But don’t you dare think you got it wrong, all right?”

“Well, I’m here, am I not?”

 “And I am as well, but - I am because I took two damned selfish decisions and I paid the consequences, and you’re here because you _didn’t_ , and it’s on them. Not on you.”

Maybe he just needed someone to say it, he figures, but - the thing is, he can’t stop thinking about _everything_  he lost to save the godsforsaken realm and look at where it got him. He has multiple stab wounds, the woman he loved is dead, he had to send Sam off also because the same people who put him _here_  couldn’t stand to see Gilly around the place and he knows that even too well, most of his friends are dead, too, he couldn’t be with his family when they might have needed him and he just -

“I _failed_ ,” he manages to say before Robb is shaking his head and pulling him close again.

“No you didn’t,” Robb says. Gods, how does he sound so sure of that? “You did your best and if they didn’t understand that you were just trying to keep the realm safe it’s not on you. Don’t say that. You did better than most would have. And I’m sorry that this brought you here but I guess I could have worse company now, could I?”

Jon _has_  to smile at that even if he’s still bloody crying. “Well, that’s true. Gods, I missed you so much, I just - I was about to desert the Watch and come find you back when you called the banners.”

“Good fucking thing you didn’t or you’d have died with me and you definitely didn’t deserve _that_ ,” Robb says at once.

“Why, did you?”

“Doesn’t mean I’d have wanted you to be there, gods. Then again I guess that at this point we might -” Robb starts, and then -

Then _something_  happens.

For a moment, Jon feels as if someone is grabbing at him and pulling him fucking _backwards_.

“What -” he starts, and then Robb’s eyes go wide in understanding - good thing _someone_  knows what’s going on.

Then Robb’s hands are on his face and he’s moving closer and he looks _very_  determined.

“Looks like you aren’t done yet.”

“ _What_?”

“Someone is trying to bring you back.”

“Bring me - no. Robb, it’s not possible, people _can’t_  just go back to life! It doesn’t work that way!” He knows he sounds hysterical now but for some reason the prospect is terrifying - he lived, he failed, he was killed for it and now he has to go back into that nest of vipers when he could just stay here, just when he has finally seen Robb again?

“True,” Robb says, and he’s smiling, “but maybe you’re not _people_ , Jon.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I can’t say,” Robb replies, “but - maybe _you_  can.”

“And what if I don’t _want_  to? I tried it once, I can’t - I can’t do it again. What if I want to stay here instead?” Which probably sounds very pathetic and clingy and not like a former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch should sound, but right now he’s not thinking about that and about discourses regarding killing boys so men can be born. Right now he’s - he should be ashamed, probably, but there was a reason why Robb was the one _leading_  out of the two of them back in the day, and what if he just wants things to be the way they used to when everything was a lot less complicated and he didn’t have the fate of the realm on his damned shoulders?

“Jon, you don’t want to. I’ve been _here_  for a long time and I know you don’t. I’m not going anywhere. But _you_  are.”

“There’s no point. There’s no fucking point. Why _me_?”

“I can’t answer that for you.”

Jon feels another pull, stronger this time. He thinks he can hear someone speaking - a woman, maybe, but he doesn’t - he can’t focus on it.

“But there’s something I can tell you.” At that, Robb comes closer - they’re grabbing to each other again by now. “I can tell you that you’ve done good, I can tell you that I’m proud of you and that I’d have told you the exact same thing if - if I could have in person.”

“Robb -”

“You have to go, and nothing is going to keep you here, which is a good thing because you deserve a long life and a lot better than you’ve had up until now.”

“You deserved that, too, you know that?”

“Maybe, but _you_  are the one getting a second chance. And it’s all right - you earned it, all right? Now you go and you make me proud all over again, how about that?”

Jon would like to say _no_ , but he can feel his chest swell even if in theory, being _dead_ , it shouldn’t happen. Then next pull is a lot stronger, but - but before he goes -

“Fine,” he says, figuring that he can’t fight it. “But I want to see if I can still be better than you with a sword. I have Valyrian steel now, by the way.”

“Well, that’s cheating since _I_  don’t, but I’ll try to hold up my own,” Robb says, and he’s smiling all over again as he reaches his waist - he _did_  have a sword there, even if he wore no armor.

Jon smiles back and reaches for Longclaw.

He hopes he has enough time for this. He really does.

–

He eventually does.

He wins.

Robb beams even as Jon helps him up from the ground, and then he feels something like a punch to the stomach and everything goes dark all over again.

–

The red woman - Melisandre - asks him what he saw while he was dead.

Jon isn’t going to share it with just about anyone, though. Especially since each one of those stab wounds feels like a hole in his chest if he just takes a breath. It’s not her business. She should have left him there.

He tells here there was nothing. She looks crestfallen.

He can’t feel sorry about it at all.

–

A long time later, he goes down in the crypts. The grave next to his father’s is still open. The funeral is in a few hours, and so - so they haven’t closed it yet.

To think he had been so _close_  -

He goes next to the stone where they laid Rickon’s body, puts a hand on a cold wrist.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers. He knows he’s crying - no one is here to see him, though. And even if they do, who cares. “This should have never happened. But - I hope - I don’t know if either of you is listening, but I hope Robb’s with you. And if you’re listening - I’m sorry. Again. I tried.”

Admittedly, he hasn’t told anyone up until now. Not even Sansa, but he knows it’s all too easy to write off as something he might have hallucinated. “I hope it’s nicer than _here_ , wherever you are.”

He looks at the empty grave on his fathers’ right side.

He leaves, swears quietly to it that if he ever gets near the Twins he’ll give Robb a proper burial as well, and leaves before someone finds him weeping his eyes out and wishing he never came back.

As he walks out, he could swear he heard a voice he once used to know whisper, _Jon, don’t be an idiot, we know you did your best and we know you tried, no one blames you_.

He probably imagined it, but - does it even matter, now?

He doesn’t feel as cold as he did when he walked in as he goes back towards the castle.

 

End.


	2. robb & rickon, afterlife reunion during 6x09

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Rickon grabs his brother's hand, after all.
> 
> It's just not _Jon's_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was for an anon who asked for _Whop imagine robb waiting to bring rickon to the afterlife and encourage jon and sansa_. With gratuitous direwolves showing up because I can, goddamn it. (Yes I'm still angry about the direwolves being killed off at fucking random, okay.)

He holds a hand out as he runs.

The last arrow has landed far enough - maybe there’s a chance, _maybe_  -

He moves forward, then he feels as if _something_  has slammed against his back and he’s falling _down_  but then -

Then there are fingers closing around his own and lifting him upwards and pulling him to his feet and he thinks _I made it, Jon I made it_  -

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

_That’s not Jon_.

He looks upwards.

“ _Robb_?”

He’s older. He’s _wearier._ Back when he left, from what little Rickon remembers, he didn’t have slight streaks of white in his hair, he didn’t have a visible angry red scar on his neck, his shoulders weren’t as large, and he has all of that now, but he’s also - his eyes are wet and he’s smiling but it’s a _sad_  smile.

Also -

Robb died, didn’t he?

Rickon looks back at the ground behind him and somehow, _somehow_ , he’s not surprised to see Jon drop down from his horse and running over towards a corpse.

Gods, they had been so _close_  -

“I’m sorry,” Robb says from behind him. “I truly am. I - I was hoping I’d wait for the rest of you for a long time.”

He sounds sad as he watches Jon’s face harden and his fingers gripping that sword tighter. Rickon suddenly remembers those times in the yard when Robb and Jon would _both_  try and teach him how to ride, and - can you cry if you’re dead, he thinks inconsequentially?

However this works - however it works, he thinks he can, since he’s tasting salt on his mouth and his eyes are burning, _they had been just so close_  -

“I’m sorry,” Robb says again, and when Rickon turns to look at him he has dropped on one knee just as his own legs falter and he falls straight against Robb and gods, all right, he had maybe allowed himself to imagine for a moment that this’d happen with Jon and it would put an end to the nightmare has been thrown into since he had to run from Winterfell. But as Robb grabs on so tight he could have barely breathed had he needed he thinks that maybe it could have been worse. There might have been no one. Right?

He thinks he _did_  cry against Robb’s shoulder like this once or twice or more, way back in the day. Before he had to leave. Before _everyone else_  left.

“I almost made it,” he sobs.

“I know,” Robb replies, and he sounds equally pained. “Gods, I know. It wasn’t fair. But - well. I guess at least now - it’s not just me and _them_.”

“ _Them_?”

Robb loosens his hold enough for his feet to get back on the ground. Rickon looks on his left and - and Grey Wind is suddenly there, bumping up against Robb’s leg. He also looks as sad as Robb as he looks at the battle raging forward behind them.

“He’s not the only one.”

“ _Lady_?” Sansa’s direwolf - smaller than Grey Wind, isn’t she? - also walks forward from somewhere behind Robb.

“She’s been there before either of us.” Robb leans down and pets Grey Wind. “And then -” Robb shrugs, nods towards his left and -

And he sees the both of them. Summer and Shaggy. For a moment he thinks _but if Summer’s here then is Bran alive_ , but then there’s a blur of black and he’s crying his eyes out against his direwolf’s fur instead, whispering _I missed you_ all over, because what else can he even do?

He feels Robb’s arm circle his shoulder a moment later.

“If you’re wondering Bran isn’t here, no,” he says softly. “And I hope it stays like this for a long while, but - well. I figured I’d take care for all of them until you all joined me. I hoped - I hoped it would be a long time from now.”

“Have you been - _there_  all along?”

“Watching the whole lot of you? Seems that’s how it works. I can only watch, though. Tough luck. I wish I could - talk to people. Sure as the seven hells I could have suggested Jon a better plan, but I’m sure he’ll manage. Too bad I couldn’t have a chance to talk to him either when - never mind. It’s not important.”

“So - now, what - what happens?”

“We - we just are here, I guess. But maybe insulting the whole lot of our siblings when they do something stupid might be less boring if someone else’s doing it with me.”

That - probably was not _funny_  in any way shape or form, but Rickon does find himself laughing a tiny bit even if his vision’s still blurred. He looks up at Robb, wiping at his eyes, one hand still clutching at Shaggy’s fur.

“I’m sure it could - be worse. And - I’m glad you’re here. I - I missed you too.”

“And I missed all of you, as well.” Robb wipes at his eyes, too, before he tries to smile without looking too convinced.

“So, do you think starting now might be a good idea? Jon _does_  need someone to kick his ass into killing fucking Ramsay, from the afterlife or not.”

He doesn’t know how he finds himself smiling back, but he does, and he grabs the hand Robb’s holding forward.

“I think he does. Need his ass kicked.”

“Good.” Robb winks, and for a moment it seems like they’re back in Winterfell’s yard and not - not _here_ and now, whatever it is.

Rickon doesn’t let go of Robb’s hand as the four direwolves flank them and they turn their attention to the battlefield. Robb doesn’t either.

 

End.


	3. jon & sansa, 6x09 canon divergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which they deal justice the Stark way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so, I was _not_ a fan of Sansa killing Ramsay the way *he* would have killed someone never mind the writers thinking it was empowering and whatnot. It was frankly worrying to me. But anyway, an anon asked _a scene where Sansa stops Jon and asks for Ramsay's beheading, so they do things "the right way, in Father's memory_ and I basically caught two birds with one stone and re-did it completely. It's not *exactly* like the prompt because she probably had the dogs idea in the first place, but here we go.

Gods, he’s _this_  tempted to end it right _here_. He could just punch his way through this and end it here and now and it would be a death as befitting of Ramsay Bolton as he can think of - this piece of shit doesn’t deserve anything better, to think of it, and that’s what Jon’s thinking as he raises his arm all over again -

“Jon.”

He stops and turns to look at Sansa, making sure that Ramsay can’t try to get out of his grip - as if. Now that he has him _here_  he’s not going to let him go.

“Sansa.” He should ask her _why_  she didn’t tell him about the Vale army, but - he’s too tired for that. He’s hurting everywhere, his adrenaline is going to keep him upwards this much longer and he’s seen -

He’s too tired for this.

“This - you know it’s not _right_ ,” she says, and damn it, she does have a point. But then -

“You’re better than killing him like that,” she adds, not quite looking at him in the eye, and - they should talk about this. They really should. Jon glances down at Bolton’s bloodied face in contempt, then lets him fall against the ground and calls for the first soldier he sees.

“Chain him and leave him locked up in the stables, I think he’s not going to be there long anyway.”

The two Vale soldiers nod at him and proceed to do just that - well, at least they’re listening to him, aren’t they? Good. As for the rest -

“We need to talk,” he says. “Alone.”

“All right,” she agrees, and he heads for the armory - it’s the first available empty room he’s seeing and it’s right over the yard, so they don’t have to walk long. She walks in before him and he closes the door, then leans against it - shit, _every_  goddamned bone in his body is hurting, same as every muscle, same as every inch of him at this point, and not just physically.

“It wasn’t right,” he agrees. “So what do you propose?”

“Not _that_. He deserves -” She stops, as if the words are getting caught up in her throat.

A part of him wants to be angry because _she didn’t tell him_.

The other is too tired even for that. She’s his _sister_ , and they’ve just reunited, and - he can’t let that poison it, too. He moves away from the door, walks up to where she is and grabs at her shoulders lightly - he knows his hands will smear her cloak with dirt and blood but he thinks they’re both beyond caring.

“ _What_  would he deserve?” He asks.

“His own dogs eating him, probably,” she spits out, not quite looking at him still.

Jon thinks about what Bolton had told him when they spoke before the battle.

“That’s what _he’_ d do, though, wouldn’t he?” Jon may not _know_  the man, but he thinks he has an inkling now.

“I know. And I wish I wasn’t thinking that he’d deserve it anyway.” She flinches visibly and Jon - Jon suddenly isn’t even feeling angry anymore. Before he _was_ , when he was punching Bolton into the ground, but now it’s just not there anymore. Maybe he’s too tired for that as well.

“Maybe he does,” he agrees. “But - if I was better than punching him into the bloody ground maybe you’re better than letting his dogs eat him alive.”

She looks up at him and she’s smiling ever so slightly, even if her eyes aren’t quite following.

“I guess I cannot argue with that.” She breathes in. “Do you think - we should do what Father would have?”

“Behead him? It’s still a better death than he deserves, probably, but - that’s not about _him_ , I think. Do we want to be the ones who bring back the Stark banners in Winterfell and kill him in _his_  own way?”

She says nothing for a long time. Then she breathes out. “A part of me is saying he’d deserve it. But - you’re right. We should do the right way. In Father’s memory.”

“Very well. I’ll see to get my sword -”

“Jon, I’m sorry I didn’t - I’ve spent a long time having to see to my own safety,” she interrupts him. “And - I should have told you that he came with that offer since the beginning. But I didn’t want - I thought we could do it on our own, and then I didn’t know how to tell you because I also survived by keeping secrets, and I think I forgot how to - to not keep some, I guess. I should - I should have told you.”

Jon would like to ask _what did this war did to us_  just for the sake of it but he can’t, mostly because he knows no one would have an answer, least of all either of them.

He drags her forward instead and when her hands curl against his shoulders he thinks, _years ago she’d have never done this_ , and not just because he wasn’t her mother’s son. It’d have been because he’s still covered in dirty, blood and sweat. He feels like crying, to be quite honest, but - it’s not the time for it.

“I’ll get that sword,” he says, “and we’re doing it now. There’s no reason to postpone it. But - you know what Father said.”

“The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword?”

“That, but I think that in this case - passing the sentence should be up to you. I can swing the sword.”

They don’t do that _now_ , because she doesn’t let him go just right that moment, but he’s fine with it. He thinks he can stand staying like this a bit longer, and something tells him that so can his sister.

 

End.


	4. jon & sansa; reminiscing post 6x09

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which they share a moment in Winterfell's yard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was for an anon who wanted _could you maybe write a missing scene post-6x09? maybe something about they walking around winterfell post battle and sharing childhood memories,or something? :)_ they asked for jon/sansa but like I can't apparently go there romantically at this specific moment so it's pretty much gen but hey I tried. with bonus conversation they needed to have at that point. (it happened in the show in the next episode but I wrote it before the finale aired.)

It’s dark out when Jon finally finds it in himself to leave what used to be his former room - he’s still hurting all over, the long bath he’s taken has done nothing to shake off the fatigue and he still feels all over like it was only half a victory.

If he thinks about his brother down in the crypts -

He puts on that cloak Sansa sewed for him and leaves the room. He needs to be out before he drowns in guilt, or before he starts thinking about how easy it’d have been to finish Bolton right _then_  -

Right. He needs to be outside. So he goes, even if every inch of his body is hurt and he can feel feet trampling all over him still.

He probably shouldn’t have gone for the yard. He had enough happy memories of it, and seeing it completely destroyed isn’t exactly a balm to the ache he’s feeling somewhere in his chest, but - that’s where he used to train with his brothers and where he’d see Arya begging Ser Rodrik to join them, that was where they had played endless swordfight games, and if only he could get back _any_  of that, if only he had run a little faster -

“Jon?”

He looks upward - Sansa is standing on that small balcony where their father and her mother always used to perch, her cloak drawn around her shoulders. She looks… well, more at ease than he is. He hopes seeing Bolton die brought her some peace and that she doesn’t regret it later. He let her have him because she insisted and she had the right and maybe she can withstand it more than he could. He’s killed too many people already in the last few years.

He gives her a nod. “I - I could not sleep,” he finally says.

She tilts his head a bit and he understands that she’s inviting him over there - he shrugs and goes up the stairs and leans over the rail, same as she is. She looks down, a sad look on her face.

“I never came here as much as you all used to,” she finally says.

“Well, you didn’t have that many reasons to. Unless you wanted to ruin your clothes.”

“True. There was that time, though.”

“Oh gods, _not_  Arya’s nameday.”

“Exactly Arya’s nameday.”

“Hells, how did that even go, didn’t she want to play knights and princesses and she hoped to draw so she’d be the knight and they’d give her a fake sword to use but instead Robb drew that, we were supposed to be the mercenaries trying to kidnap you and Robb had to defend you all along?”

“Bran said we were the only ones who looked right for it,” Sansa says, and her voice is sounding choked even if she’s obviously not  _unhappy_. Jon can see that her eyes are filling up with tears, and - fuck, he doesn’t even know what he should be doing here because _his own_  might as well and he’s not really thinking about it when he puts an arm around her shoulders. She goes with it, her head landing on his shoulder, just under his chin.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” she says, and wait, are they abruptly changing subject or -

“Sansa, we don’t need to talk about it now, it’s -”

“I only survived this long because I learned how to keep secrets,” she blurts out. “And I should have trusted you with it but I just couldn’t. It’s been years, I -”

Gods, she sounds like she might cry - he takes a glance at the yard but no one’s there. He turns a bit so he can hold her properly, and if someone passes by - who even cares, he’s been too through much to care.

“I get it,” he says, even if it _did_  hurt to see that she _did_  know something he didn’t and couldn’t tell him back in that moment. Because he does. Hasn’t his stint beyond the Wall taught him how it feels to keep secrets from people he loves? “I get it, it’s - we can talk about it tomorrow. But I’m not mad or anything. I couldn’t.” He also couldn’t probably take it right now, not when he’s barely managed to keep her safe when it was the one thing he had hoped he’d accomplish, but that’s not the point. He understands it even too well.

“But we made it, didn’t we?” He says a beat later against the side of her face, and even with everything that went down and with all the ways they failed at it - they _did_  make it. He wants to think Robb is around somehow and has seen the right banner fly over the walls again and he might be not too disappointed in the two of them.

She moves away from him enough so they can look at each other - her eyes are wet and her cheeks are flushed and her hair is unkempt, but he can see that she understood what he meant.

“Yes, we did,” she whispers - her hands go tentatively to the back of his head and he drags her closer all over again, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, and even if nothing’s anywhere near _fixed_  and things could be entirely better off and this cost them way, way too much -

There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, mustn’t it.

_We’re home at least_ , he thinks, and holds her a tiny bit tighter.

 

End.


	5. jon & sansa (or jon/sansa): post-finale bed sharing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Sansa is adamant that Jon gets their father's chambers. They work it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so after the finale I actually was on a YESSS JON high. stuff happened. tumblr user riahchan prompted me _Sansa is HAPPY for Jon being acclaimed king and TEASES him about it and tries to get him to take the nice bedroom again. And there is INAPPROPRIATE CHEMISTRY like they have had all season!_ and I was tipsy enough that I might actually made it more ambiguous than the usual gen, but hey, I tried.

Jon’s still not sure it’s really happening.

If he woke up a moment from now still at the Wall and found out he dreamed all of this, he wouldn’t be surprised at all. Except that -

Except that he’s _not_ , if he were dreaming he still wouldn’t be feeling wounds hurting from that battle, and he wouldn’t be feeling - well, it’s not that he’s _unhappy_  about it, but he can only think, _what would Robb say_ , and -

“He’d have been glad of it,” Sansa says all of a sudden, showing up at his side.

He can’t hide that he’s startled by it - the feast hasn’t been over long and he had thought no one had noticed him sneaking out before _all_  left the room, but then again Sansa would have. She was sitting next to him, wasn’t she.

“What -”

“You were speaking out loud.”

“ _Oh_. Damn. I guess it’s a good thing _you_  were around or they’d be regretting it already.”

She sends him a _look_  that is - he doesn’t know. Unimpressed? Amused? Both? Then she laughs all over again and threads her arm around his own. “They _aren’t_. They won’t. Gods, Robb always used to say that you could be sour when you wanted, but I’d have never thought I’d see someone looking this sad at _their own crowning_.”

And - that’s true, isn’t it? He can’t help it - he hadn’t thought he’d laugh at any point soon, not when that prospect was bloody terrifying in the first place, but he follows her as she starts laughing all over again and they walk through the hallway. He barely even knows where they’re going, Sansa’s leading, but he figures it’s not important now. “Well, fine, guess he had a point.”

“Well, you don’t _have_  to be. Gods, did you see it? They were so - I wouldn’t have hoped that but wasn’t it _marvelous_?”

“ _Marvelous_?” He’s starting to wonder if she drank more than he had noticed, but her eyes are the eyes of someone who’s genuinely, absolutely _happy_  about something and it can’t be just because of a few cups of wine.

Then she stops, but she doesn’t let his arm go.

“Jon. We’re home. They’re _all_  with us. They’re with _you_. And you earned it. You - Father would have been proud, I’m _sure_  Robb would have been proud and after - after everything you told me happened to you since you left, don’t you think that maybe you’re allowed to have something good happen to you?”

He doesn’t want to say, _yes, and look at what happened the last time I was put in charge_ , even if he could, but - it’s different now, he figures. It’s not the same thing. It wasn’t a divided decision.

Gods, they gave him a _name_  same as they did Robb, and now he thinks he wants to cry all over again but maybe it’s not because of - just negative reasons. Maybe.

“Fine,” he concedes, “but I still don’t know about _marvelous_.”

“You’re obviously the worst judge of your situation. I say that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell and now there’s _two_  of them, and I told you before - that’s what you are to _me_ , all right?”

Now he _really_  wants to cry, even of for completely different reasons, and he doesn’t even know how to put into words everything that he’d like to say right now, but maybe it shows on his face because she’s smiling at him again and dragging him forward -

Until they’re in front of their father’s old bedroom.

“Sansa -”

“It’d be ridiculous if the _King in the North_ didn’t sleep in an appropriate room, wouldn’t it?”

“Sansa, it should be yours. I can take Robb’s at most -”

“ _Jon_ , I guess I wasn’t clear enough. You don’t deserve to get only my leftovers, all right? Or Robb’s. Or anyone else’s. I know that it’s - I’m not sure if I can understand it fully, and I know that my mother couldn’t have helped in that sense, and maybe you’re expecting it, but you don’t have to assume you have to keep on doing it when they just put a crown on your head.”

It’s all - they are things he _knows_ , somehow, pretty much, but it’s also the kind of thing he’s sure he hasn’t ever manage to fully embrace, and now that she’s saying it he’s just - he’s tired, he doesn’t know if he’s elated or not and he’s thinking _they’re trusting me again with this oh gods_ , and maybe that’s why he doesn’t think before speaking next.

“Maybe we should compromise,” he blurts out.

“As in?”

“You think it should be mine. I think it should be yours. From what I remember, it was large enough for two, though.”

_Gods, he hopes he hasn’t overstepped_  -

She pretty much _beams_  at that, and - and Jon doesn’t even know how to take it.

“Finally you had a good idea, didn’t you?” She asks, and then she winks at him and drags him inside. He hadn’t even dared walking in before ordering to have it prepared for her, but - it’s more or less the way he remembers it being. And the bed is large, there’s a fire going on in the fireplace, the rugs are always the same as they were before and it’s all so familiar he could weep in happiness.

He turns as Sansa changes into proper nightclothes, and he imagines she does the same as _he_  does, because _she_  had ordered someone to bring his clothes to the same room as well and maybe tomorrow he’ll know how to take it and what to say, but right now he’s just not really thinking straight and maybe he really, _really_  needs to rest.

He’s gotten rid of all the leather and opens the door enough to let Ghost in before shutting it closed - he had felt that the direwolf was outside and he feels better if he’s around. Just in case.

Sansa is already under the furs and he swallows before he climbs underneath as well - damn, he has felt cold a _lot_  since coming back to life, but right now he’s not. Not when the covers are warm and the room is and he’s not feeling like he has to watch behind his back at any given moment.

“See?” Sansa asks a moment later, breaking that train of thought, “it wasn’t so complicated.”

And - she smiles a tiny bit as she moves her hand forward - it’s resting in the middle of the mattress now, halfway in between the two of them.

She doesn’t _say_  anything, and Jon hopes he hasn’t read it wrong, but - he reaches forward and takes it in his own, and he knows he read it right when her shoulders sag in relief.

He knows his own are doing the same.

“Thank you,” he chokes. “Truly, I -”

“Jon, you don’t have to thank me for anything. You’ll be a good king.”

“And you’ll be a better Lady of Winterfell, I have a feeling.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with this picture, though,” Sansa replies, moving a tiny bit closer.

He grasps at her hand just a bit tighter.

“Neither can I,” he finally admits, and as he speaks he knows he means it entirely.

 

End.


	6. theon + sansa, jon & pod: he goes back North after the kingsmoot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Theon doesn't go to Essos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's say that after 6x04 no one in my circle was happy with the Theon & Yara reunion (not even calling her Asha at this point ops). tumblr user argustar went like _Honestly, were I Theon after that scene, I would've been all "fuck this, where's Sansa heading again? Maybe I can still catch up." That would have the added bonus of being forgiven by Robb by proxy again when Jon forgives and helps him._ Who was I to resist the alluring call of such a good prompt? *sigh*

Rumors in White Harbor say that they’re marching back to Winterfell.

Which means that they haven’t taken it back yet, or at least they haven’t as far as the rumors in White Harbor are concerned. He considers the plan yet again, weights the risks of showing up there if Winterfell doesn’t have Stark banners flying outside its walls when he comes back, because if it doesn’t -

Then again, wasn’t he ready to risk those soldiers bringing him back to Winterfell if only it meant that Sansa would escape? Whatever it is, it’s still a better option than - than what he got, wasn’t it? Never mind that he certainly wouldn’t have gone to look for fucking _dragons_  himself - he wishes his sister well, he does, but if there had a nail to be put in the coffin of where he truly belongs then that’s it. What was he thinking when he decided going home was a good idea he’ll never know but then again what was he thinking when he took Winterfell in the first place?

He still has some gold left - at least being _banished_  didn’t mean they didn’t leave him _some_  to pay for his passage. He finds a horse. He gets himself some food. The only improvement that has passed in between shipping to the islands and now is that at least he has new clothes, which is better than nothing, but still -

At this point, if Jon Snow really takes his head it’s going to be a kindness.

He rides to Winterfell. Maybe he takes it slower than one would assume someone in a hurry would, but - he’s not going to take unnecessary risk. He can’t afford to be back with -

He’s not going to consider the option.

–

He purposefully chooses a way that he knows will take longer, but that also passes through a fairly tall hill that gives a good visual on Winterfell and the area surrounding it. When he gets there, a long time later (he’s tired, he’s hungry, he feels like he could bathe for the next ten years and he knows he deserves all of this, he does, but he’s _tired_  and he thinks about Sansa throwing her arms around his shoulders before he left and about how he can’t seem to take two right decisions in a row) - well. There are no Stark banners flying outside Winterfell yet, but there’s an army camped not far from it. There _are_  Stark banners flying on their camp. He swallows - so Jon Snow did send help, after all.

A part of him says _run_ , another replies _where would you even go_  and really, if Jon takes his head it’s just going to be what he deserves. He heads for the camp.

–

When he gets there he suddenly realizes that maybe he should have thought of a _plan_ , because he doubts random soldiers will let him in just on account of his word, and so he doesn’t come closer - he dismounts, ties the horse to a tree, tries to come up with _something_  that might convince any guard to at least let him see Sansa, and then he hears the noise of wood creaking. He swallows, follows it and -

Well, at least _something’_ s going his way - that’s Brienne’s squire looking for wood. Podrick, that was his name, wasn’t it?

He breathes in and purposefully makes some noise - Pod lets the wood go and his hand goes to his sword at once, but then he notices him and his face goes from worried to surprised, but it’s nothing - disappointed.

“Didn’t you - weren’t you going _home_?” He asks, coming closer. Well, at least he doesn’t sound judgmental.

“It wasn’t a good idea.” He doesn’t say anything about what his sister had to say when he came back. “My uncle won the kingsmoot. I don’t know if there were news arriving this far -”

“They did. Well, about your father dying, not about who succeeded. Wait, aren’t you supposed -”

“I supported my sister. It didn’t go well. I mean, for _her_  it went better than it could. In retrospective. For me - never mind. I couldn’t stay there. I thought - I didn’t know what I was thinking, but - if you could get me in -”

“Sure,” Pod replies, and Theon’s almost thankful when he says that, because he wasn’t finding any better words to explain the situation.

Never mind that _I’ve been banished_  isn’t a thing he’s nearly ready to say out loud even if it’s hardly the worst thing that happened to him.

“Sure, let me just - get the rest of the wood and you can come with. But if you have a hood pull it up. There are _some_  northern families with us and if they recognize you before Lady Sansa can vouch for you -”

“Of course.” _Of course_. Gods, now maybe he’s just going to cause troubles for her, isn’t he, he should have _never_  come back -

“Fine. Come then.”

He pulls up his cloak and follows Pod - a guard looks at them suspiciously but since they’re obviously together he doesn’t question them. Good. Pod leaves the wood with someone who looks like they’re minding the food, then motions for him to follow until the reach a fairly huge tent.

“- think there’s much point in fighting fairly,” someone says from the inside, and wait a moment -

“Is that _Jon_?”

“Uh, yes?” Pod replies. “Didn’t you know? He’s not - technically the Lord Commander anymore. Well. He. Uh. Died and came back to life, or so it seems like.”

Theon just _stares_. “He’s here.”

“Yes, with his sister.”

“This was a mistake -”

Pod reaches out and grabs his arm. “I don’t think so. Just try it, won’t you.”

“Given what happened to Stannis’s army, I fear you’re right,” Sansa agrees. “So should we plan to do it - treacherously?”

“Maybe it won’t be necessary. There has to be some way in that _we_  know of having _lived_  there that he couldn’t -”

Pod shrugs and just barges inside, dragging him in. “My lord, my lady, sorry to interrupt, but seems like _my lady_  - at least - has a visit.”

“I do?” Sansa asks as she stands up.

Well, he can’t stall anymore, or so it seems like. He breathes out. He pulls down the hood. He tries to hold her stare, as much as he can. Then -

“I should have listened to you,” he admits heavily, but it comes out so uncertain, he almost flinches at it.

But then - then she _beams_  and runs towards the two of them and about almost makes him fall when she throws her arms around his shoulders again and at least this time round he finds it in himself to actually hold her back the moment she does it instead of just  _standing_  there like he had in the snow.

That wasn’t - that wasn’t what he had imagined, but he’s not going to be the one complaining about it. He closes his eyes and allows himself a moment of basking in the feeling - gods but she’s warm and he can’t remember the last time he hasn’t felt cold down to his bones. “I’m s-” he starts, but then she grasps at his shoulders tighter.

“How about you don’t apologize,” she replies, cutting him short before leaning back. She takes a good look at him, and she probably notices that he’s looking worse for wear, but thankfully she says nothing. Then she moves closer again. “He’s not going to take your head, by the way. And we could use some help, if you’re amenable.”

He thinks he wants to cry. “Yes,” he chokes. “Whatever I can do. Still - I shouldn’t -”

“You’re here, aren’t you?” She moves away, and - right. He takes another deep breath and looks past her - Pod’s gone but Jon _isn’t_  and Theon can’t help thinking that he also looks - different, somehow. Older and wearier, and he has cut some of that ridiculously long hair he used to have, and when he looks at his clothes he almost breaks down crying because _he’s dressed exactly like Robb_  even if some of the colors are different. Then again if anyone deserves that it’s him, Theon figures. Sansa looks at the two of them and then -

“I have to go fetch Lady Brienne for this, I think. I will be back shortly,” she says, and then she _runs away_ , damn it, which means that now they’re alone and staring at each other and Theon just - has no idea of what he should say which isn’t apologizing all over again.

“She told me,” Jon says, and thank the gods he spoke first. “Everything, I mean. About what went down in Winterfell.”

“I’m s -”

“No,” Jon interrupts, “gods, don’t apologize. I know just by looking at you and apologizing isn’t going to make any of us feel better about it. Now - when I heard about what happened - I honestly couldn’t believe that. As much as we _didn’t_  like each other, it just didn’t seem like something you’d do, and I see that you’re regretting it and Sansa swore to the seven hells and back that you could be trusted, so let’s just have it out of the way. I don’t - I don’t really want your head. I had enough of killing people and I know I will have to do it again soon. What I want to know is - are you willing to help us out?”

“If you’ll have me,” Theon replies, hoping that _this_  isn’t what eventually breaks his resolve and makes him lose all dignity, because it’s _so much more than he thought he’d get_ , he doesn’t know if he can believe it’s really happening.

“I _would_  have someone who has more of a clue than I do of how that - that sick piece of shit strategizes,” Jon says, “but that’s - not the entirety of it. Just - gods, what in the seven hells happened to you?”

“Ramsay Bolton,” Theon sighs, shuddering as the name leaves his mouth. He doesn’t know if he can articulate it.

“Yes, she told me,” Jon says, moving a bit closer. “Gods, if I think he has -” He stops himself from saying something after sending a worried look his way. “Never mind. You’ll know soon enough and we have to plan quickly. But - one thing. She said - she also said you were about to get yourself taken again to give her a chance to escape, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” he says, shrugging. “It wasn’t - well. What else could I do?”

“I don’t think you might have been looking forward to that, though.”

“No,” he admits. “But - I had to. I mean, I - I couldn’t - I betrayed Robb, I got it all wrong, and she didn’t deserve - it was the least I owed him. I should have been with him all along, I couldn’t not -”

“Gods,” Jon says, shaking his head, and then -

Then he’s tentatively moving closer and grabbing him by the shoulders and -

Is it _really_  happening, he wonders as his shaking hands grip Jon’s back tentatively.

“I think you more than paid that back,” Jon says. “From what I see, anyway. Just - wherever he is, I think he’s not disappointed.”

Theon doesn’t need Jon to specify who _he_  is.

“Thank you,” he blurts, knowing that his voice is breaking and unable to care enough to stop it.

Jon doesn’t reply and Theon notices that he’s _warmer_  than Sansa is, almost unnaturally so, but is it even important, when - when for the first time in a while he almost doesn’t feel cold anymore?

He doesn’t tell Jon that at least this time he knows he’s taken the right decision, there’s probably no need, and he lets himself think that maybe he really might be home this time round.

 

End.


	7. theon & asha/yara; different take on their 6x07 conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Theon gets a talk from his sister in Volantis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right so let's say I had *endless* issues with how they handled the supposed tough love/therapeutic talk from Yara in 6x07. Entirely endless. I liked the idea behind it but I thought the execution was atrocious and only halfway saved by the actors. So I figured I'd do an experiment and I rewrote it changing just the stuff I absolutely loathed and keeping everything else that I could just to see how it worked out. Also I left Asha as the proper name here because that's how I thought *Asha Greyjoy* might give her brother the awkward tough love pep talk, not *Yara Greyjoy*, but whatever.

The street outside the brothel is a lot quieter than the inside, Theon thinks as he leans against the wall and takes a deep breath. Not that the air smells nice or anything, but it’s still less constricting than it was five minutes ago. The only good thing about this blasted situation is that at least Volantis isn’t cold - he had enough snow back in Winterfell.

“- wait, I have to see -” someone says from the other side of the wall, and a moment later his sister comes out of it. She spots him right away and she lets out a small huff, then turns towards the girl that was sort of hanging on her arm. Theon has no clue of where she comes from but he’s fairly sure he had seen her in the crew of one of the ships anchored near theirs. “Ah, there you are. What’s the matter?”

As if it wasn’t obvious. “Why did we have to come here?” He asks instead of stalling. He’s too tired for that.

Asha looks at the girl, then shrugs. “Well, some of us figured we could do with a few drinks and the likes. Hey, wait for me inside, I’ll be back in a short while.”

The girl gives Asha a nod and goes back inside, then Asha moves next to him. “It’s not the kind of thing you can indulge much back home,” she says. “Sometimes I like to change things around. It’s fun, once in a while. But that’s not the point now, is it?”

“Good for you if you can,” he says, trying to sound as nonchalant as he can - good for _her_  indeed. He think that ship’s sailed for him for the foreseeable future.

Asha looks at him and leans back against the wall, too. “Admittedly, I didn’t really think it through.”

“There’s no reason why you _shouldn’t_  if I can’t,” he answers, trying not to sound affected and utterly failing at it - he shudders without being able to control it and then she has a hand on his arm. He tries not to flinch.

“Little brother, you _know_  I’d never hurt you, right?”

“I _know_  that, it’s just -” _that my body doesn’t_ , he doesn’t say. “Never mind. Uncle Euron is hunting us, isn’t he?”

“Of course he is. As long as we’re alive, we are a threat.”

“He’ll find us.” He wishes he could just _stop_  flinching but what can he do, especially at the prospect of - gods, _no_. He escaped Ramsay, he _can’t_  possibly face death thanks to his bloody uncle.

“It’s a great big world and we have fast ships. Do you want a drink? I can bring you one.”

“No.” Shit, if anything he’s _not_  feeling like that at all.

“Sure about that?”

“I don’t want any, but thanks.”

“As you wish,” she says, but then she takes a glance around them and moves so that she’s - not exactly in front of him, but her hands are on his neck and she’s forcing him to look down at her. He can barely feel the height difference now, given how _focused_  she looks.

“Theon. You’re _ironborn_. I know neither me or Father ever did much to tell you that same thing when you came back, but you _are_. I remember how you were when you came back home. _This_  isn’t you. Or it’s not - what you _could_  be.”

“Sounds easy to say,” he can’t help blurting out, and maybe his voice breaks a tiny bit, but she doesn’t break the hold - it’s not turning this side of painful, but it’s certainly not soft at all.

“I know what happened to you. Well, I don’t know _all_ , but I’ve seen some. I remember that. And I understand that right now you might just want to cower like a beat dog -”

Theon tries not to flinch again, thinking of when he actually _slept with the damned dogs_  -

“But you’re better than that. You were better than that and I think you _can_  be better than that if you want to.”

“If I -”

“You _escaped_. You escaped and you’re never going back. If this plan works out we’ll get justice for you -”

He has to laugh at that. “As if. If justice was in the cards, my burned body would be hanging outside Winterfell.”

Her eyes turn hard for a moment, but then - then her grip _does_  turn this side of painful. “Fine, fuck justice since I’m fairly sure that you wouldn’t be use to anyone dead, yourself first and foremost. We’ll get revenge then. Now, listen to me a goddamned moment. The plan is going to Mereen, find that dragon queen before our uncle can and take back the Iron Islands, and from _that_  point on getting vengeance shouldn’t be that much farther. If you want to come with then you can’t let that eat at you. It’s _over_. You can catch up with it, help me and get your revenge or you can let that kill you since that’s what’s happening right now anyway, and at that point you might as well save time and do it yourself if you’re really that bent on dying. But I don’t think that’s what you want, or you wouldn’t be here in the first place, would you?”

… thing is, she’s right. If he had just wanted to die, he’d have gone to the Wall and let Snow have his vengeance. Or - he’s had occasions over occasions to just end it, and he never took any of them. Except maybe when he jumped with Sansa, but risking death didn’t mean going to it for sure.

“I wouldn’t,” he agrees.

“Good. Because I need _you_ , the real Theon Greyjoy, and I think that’s what _you_  need, too. So, are you with me? Are you _really_  with me?”

Fuck, Asha’s - she’s right, isn’t she? He takes a breath, looks at her again, and the way she’s looking at him isn’t as cold or mean as he might have feared, and he finds himself nodding before agreeing under his breath.

Then - “Yes,” he finally says loud enough to hear, and fuck, if he actually thinks about it, he _knows_  he means it.

“Good,” she says, and then her grip loosens and she presses a kiss to his forehead, not overtly long but _gods_  if it’s not obvious that she meant it, too, and he almost wants to cry.

“Well then, since it’s my last night ashore and I have a few trusted men willing to entertain me on our ships, I think I shall go and try my luck with our friend from before. Are you sure you don’t want to have a drink? This is your last chance to have it with someone else, because if I’m lucky I won’t be drinking for long, myself.”

He’s about to say no, it’s really not a good idea -

But actually, he hasn’t had a bloody drink in years at this point. Might as well toast to the hope that Snow takes Ramsay’s head off before Theon can even think about going back North - Ramsay would detest it way more than any other prospect.

“Actually, I think I want it. I’m coming.”

Asha smirks and her teeth all show. “Good, then what in the seven hells are you waiting for?”

He doesn’t quite smile all the way as he follows her inside, but he kind of feels the urge to.

It’s a nice feeling.

 

End.


	8. theon & rhaegal, theon accidentally ends up with one of dany's dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Theon accidentally acquires a dragon, or maybe it's the other way around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When the whole thing about THE GREYJOYS ARE GOING TO MEREEN was confirmed everyone me included was like 'what the fucking fuck'. Then at some point I don't remember who was that said 'well Theon could at least ride a damned dragon since we're there', and I ran with it with an anon doing headcanons about how it *totally* should be Rhaegal (who also is *totally* going to be Jon's dragon when the time comes...) and then I was taking prompts and they valiantly showed up with _I'm prompting the Theon bonding with Rhaegal fic and Rhaegal kind of being like Jon in some ways but loving Theon and maybe Jon shows up later and you decide how to do it._
> 
> So. Have the fic where Rhaegal decides that Theon is totally his new human. I DON'T EVEN KNOW GUYS JUST RUN WITH IT. This is 100% crack and I regret nothing.
> 
> Also, incidentally, Iwan Rheon said that he asked for Ramsay to die by dragon but it didn't happen. I was more than glad to provide it for him. :')

Admittedly, Theon’s there just because he _has_  to be there. Yara _did_  point out a few times that even if she made the alliance they still should come in a package deal.

So when the queen says that given that they’re allies now they should at least see the damned _dragons_ , he follows. Not that he’s that sure about it, but - well. At most he’s getting roasted alive if they don’t like the sight of him and given what he still thinks he’d have deserved getting, well, he figures a dragon would kill him quickly at most.

That said, when they get where the dragons are, all three beasts are - pretty much crouching in the desert, not looking particularly murderous. Good thing that.

The black one - Drogon - glances at them in a fairly worrying way, if you ask him, but then Daenerys goes next to him and he calms down or _whatever_  it is that dragons do. The other two just _look_  their way. Not as aggressively, at least.

“They look less hungry than the last time I tried paying them a visit,” Lannister mutters nearby. “Guess they had their fun before.”

“So,” Yara says, looking pensive. “The black one’s Drogon, and the other two.”

“The green one is Rhaegal,” Daenerys answers proudly. “The golden one is Viserion. You can come closer, they _won’t_  burn my allies.”

Yara does go closer - gods, is she _insane_?

Thankfully she _doesn’t_  try to touch one - Viserion doesn’t seem to mind her presence, but Rhaegal is just sending her a look that… well, Theon doesn’t know if dragons can look _unimpressed_  but that’s about what it looks like.

Lannister refuses moving closer on account of having done that already and knowing they don’t think he’s _food_ , whatever it is that it means.

“Don’t you want to see them closer?” Missandei, he thinks was her name, asks from his right.

“Uh, really, I think - I think I have had enough excitement for a long time. I can do without,” Theon replies, trying to not sound as if he doesn’t _want_  to because what if they get offended, gods -

But then the green one - Rhaegal, yes - sort of… doesn’t stand up, not fully, but gets on his feet and starts walking their way. Slowly.

 _What in the seven hells_?

Theon doesn’t move as the dragon comes next to them and then drops back crouching right in front of him.

Before staring at him in that same unimpressed way, except that it’s not… just… _that_. It’s as if he’s daring him to move closer. Which makes no sense whatsoever since it’s a goddamn bloody dragon, but when he doesn’t move or do _anything_  else Theon just swallows and figures that hey, at worst he dies instantly. What can happen?

He reaches out and slowly runs his left hand over the dragon’s scales. They’re rough, but it doesn’t hurt or anything of the kind. They’re also warm. It almost feels - well, _nice_ , he figures. Then the dragon closes his eyes and _moves its head forward_.

Theon runs his palm over the top of Rhaegal’s head again. There’s  _something_  coming from the dragon’s throat that - well, if he was a cat he might be purring right now.

Seven fucking bloody hells.

He looks upwards to see that _the entire bloody group is looking at him_.

He clears his throat. Then -

“I have no clue of what I’m doing,” he admits. “Sorry?”

Queen Daenerys moves closer and he doesn’t stop _petting_  the damned thing just because what if he pisses it off? Yeah, maybe not.

“This is remarkable,” she says after a long, long moment.

“What?”

“They don’t usually trust strangers _this_  much. Well, _Theon_ , I guess there’s a lot more to you than meets the eye.”

“Uh, I swear, I didn’t _do_  anything -”

“That’s not what I was saying. Well, good thing he _likes_  you.”

Theon had _not_  anticipated this.

–

The bloody dragon doesn’t desist. Now that they’re free they roam around the city even if they don’t exactly kill everyone, good thing that, and while their entourage gets ready to leave, Theon finds himself - _followed_. Almost. He doesn’t know but bloody Rhaegal seems to suddenly be around him most times. At some point Daenerys had just shrugged and said he might as well feed the thing - Theon doesn’t want to think about all those poor sheep dying at once, but then the dragon had pretty much crouched on the ground and _curled his tail around Theon’s legs_ , and - yeah, well, it’s weird, all right?

By the time they’re ready - and three ships have been reserved for the dragons only - Daenerys tells him curtly to go on the one where Rhaegal is since it’s a good thing _someone_  can keep an eye on him.

 _As if he’d do what I say. Seriously_?

Then again, he can see that Lannister is jealous as hell that Theon somehow accidentally acquired a pet dragon or something, and given how he was welcomed on that first day there’s a petty part of him that makes him - well, sort of happy about it.

However, he boards the damned ship he’s assigned to. Hopefully the  _dragon_  isn’t going to change his mind during the trip.

–

The fourth night, he has a nightmare so bad he wakes up screaming his lungs out - his hand throbs in pain even if _nothing_  is touching it, he has cold sweat all over his face, he can remember in excruciating detail how he lost that finger and -

He runs out of his cabin and throws up over the rail - thankfully whoever’s around doesn’t come near him.

Except that then he hears a soft growl.

He turns to find himself face to face with Rhaegal, who is _looking_  at him, still. Somehow pitifully. If a dragon can look at you with _pity_. But it’s not - entirely bad. It’s - he’ll be fucked, but it’s sort of the same way he thinks bloody Jon Snow used to look at him sometimes when he let slip how much he didn’t enjoy being a hostage or hearing northerners calling his people savages in front of him, when he obviously didn’t want to outright _show_  that he felt sorry for him.

He’s really going mad.

“I’m fine,” he finally says.

Rhaegal looks _entirely_  unimpressed.

“All right, I’m not. But I will be. It’s nothing new.”

The rumble coming from Rhaegal would have terrified anyone, Theon figures, but the thing is that the dragon keeps on looking _pissed off_  but not at him.

“Hey, uh, don’t - don’t burn the ship. Really, it’s - I’ll be fine. Eventually. I guess.”

Even if at times he wonders if he will ever be - as much as his sister likes to think he can pull himself together completely, he’s not of her same opinion. Not that he’d tell her straight - she tries, but he’s not sure she can ever get it.

Rhaegal just _stares_. Theon doesn’t know if dragons can somehow look like they’re _sorry_  for you, but this one is.

He’d like to know why he keeps on thinking about Jon fucking Snow and the way he looked at Theon sometimes back in the day.

But then Rhaegal moves back, slightly, and - he extends his neck and lowers it downwards. As if -

“Wait. You don’t want me to climb on.”

Rhaegal _stares_  at him. It definitely is saying _yes, you idiot, that’s exactly what I want you to do_.

Theon doesn’t even _know_ , but - all right. Fine. If the _dragon’_ s asking. He swallows and carefully climbs up, swinging his legs around the dragon’s neck, his hands gripping at the scales in a way that will hurt them later, but he’s not going to risk falling down.

For a moment he expects the dragon to just take off in a rush but no, he starts slow as he flies upwards. And - he keeps his eyes closed because he’s honestly terrified, but when it seems like Rhaegal isn’t going up any further he opens them and - _and_.

He can see the whole of the fleet beneath him, and if he looks up there’s an almost blinding starred sky, and _he’s flying on the back of a dragon_. He can see the other two flying around without a rider, but they tend to do that at night time. His grip on the scales goes a bit more lax and he runs his left over Rhaegal’s ear, and -

And damn but it’s nice up here. There’s _something_  about riding one of these things and looking down and for a fleeting moment he thinks that like this _no one_  could literally get to him and gods but he wants to cry in relief at the prospect.

“Guess it’s a bad thing you weren’t around a couple years ago, huh?” He says under his breath. “Well. Thank you. Really.”

Rhaegal doesn’t turn to look at him but lets out a breath and for a moment he sees a flash of fire in front of him before it dies out.

Theon doesn’t tell him to go back down. Not just yet.

–

If you had told Theon that he’d ask Daenerys Targaryen to _lend him the bloody dragon_  to go help Jon Snow conquer Winterfell years ago, he’d have laughed in your face.

As it is, the moment they land in White Harbor and Theon hears about Snow and Sansa trying to reclaim Winterfell from Bolton but having no men, and about Ramsay having somehow gotten hold of Rickon Stark, he suddenly forgets about how much he had thrown up overboard _again_  the night before they saw the shore and goes up to ask her. If he can make it right - then he’ll do it. In _any_  possible way.

She _looks_  at him, then -

“Well, even if I said no, I learned that trying to stifle them isn’t a good idea. And I have a feeling Rhaegal might want to go with you, so - take him. But I expect you both to come back. Or better, _I_  might come to Winterfell myself. I suppose I shall need allies.”

That was - more than he thought he’d get.

That’s how he just - takes the bloody dragon and rides for Winterfell. Thankfully Rhaegal seems to somehow be attuned to him or  _something_ , and dragons are _fast_ , and by the time he sees the battlefield in the distance there are two armies facing each other, nothing has started yet or so it seems, and -

Well, he doesn’t know what the hell is going on or how they’re going to face off each other, but he knows people will notice him in  _seconds_ , so he can’t exactly think about it.

“Right,” he says, “I need you to go _down_.”

Rhaegal does, its shadow suddenly appearing on the battlefield, and he can _feel_  people looking upwards now because of course, a dragon appears in the sky, who _wouldn’t_ , and as Rhaegal flies downward Theon tries to focus on what the hell is going on and -

Is that Rickon next to Ramsay?

For a moment he’s petrified, but then he remembers, _I’m riding a bloody dragon, am I not_?

“Down. _There_. I need to - I need to grab Rickon, _fast_ ,” he shouts, not that anyone will hear him, and - Rhaegal _does_ , and Theon barely has the time to see Ramsay’s dumbfounded face as Rhaegal glides downwards.

Theon reaches out, grabs Rickon by the collar hoping that the kid is smart and _hangs the hell on_  and lifts him up, and -

It works.

Gods but _it works_ and Rickon hoists himself up on Rhaegal’s wing, and -

“ _Theon_?”

Theon shrugs. “Do you mind if I apologize properly later?” he shouts as Rhaegal turns over and moves closer to the other side of the field - Rickon gives him a dumbfounded nod and lets himself fall down when they see Jon Snow right beneath them. Jon catches him, thankfully, and - 

“You can land,” Theon says, swallowing - Rhaegal does. Slowly. Very elegantly, for that matter.

Jon Snow looks upwards.

“ _Theon_?” He shouts - he looks so surprised that Theon almost wants to laugh, if only it wasn’t such a dire situation.

“I heard you needed help,” he says. “Good thing my sister just struck an alliance that includes dragons, Snow.”

Jon blinks as he tells Rickon to go find Sansa quickly - the other army is standing there dumbfounded, but then again Theon can feel that Rhaegal is ready to burn them at short notice.

“She did say you went back to the islands,” he says. “But - what - _a dragon_?”

“I got lucky, I guess,” Theon says. “Do you need that army torched?”

He’s entirely aware that it’s a surreal conversation at most, but Jon looks at him, then at the army, then he _smiles_.

“I think I can deal with Bolton and his main henchmen. If your  _dragon_  is amenable.”

Then Sansa appears from the sidelines along with Ghost, and she beams when she sees him, even if then she seems to take notice of the entire situation.

“Weren’t you going _home_?”

“I did. Long story,” he says. Then again, maybe it’s not a good idea if  _he_  goes all in. If Snow’s the commander -

Gods, he can’t believe he’s doing this.

“Do you think we can take one more?” He whispers. Rhaegal _hums_.

“Snow,” he says, “get up here. If it looks like _I_  was the responsible, we’d be in a mess. But Bolton’s _mine_ , all right? If Sansa doesn’t want a piece.”

“Wait, _seriously_?”

“Jon, get over that dragon. And I think I can leave him to you,” Sansa says, still looking awed.

Snow, who apparently wised up in the last few years, tells her to keep Ghost close and climbs on Rhaegal as well - Theon moves so he can be in the front.

“Gods, is he really going to do what I ask?” Jon says.

“Just go for it. Don’t think. And do it _already_ ,” Theon answers, hoping that it doesn’t backfire.

Rhaegal flies upwards.

It does _not_.

–

Admittedly, he had thought he could _never_ face seeing Ramsay Bolton again in his life.

But seeing it from a dragon’s back somehow puts things back into perspective. Especially when Bolton’s chained outside Winterfell’s gates and he’s looking up at him as if he can’t even fathom the sight in front of him.

Rhaegal, on his part, is pretty much up in Ramsay’s face growling not so softly.

“Ramsay,” Theon says. His voice isn’t shaking. He’s feeling fairly proud of that.

Ramsay looks upwards. He seems legitimately terrified.

 _Good_.

“How - _how_  -”

“Good question. For some reason, he likes me. What can I say, he probably has horrible taste, but I’m not going to question it. I understand Sansa had something to tell you before.”

She did - she whispered something after coming close to the man before, and then she left and told him that she was done.

“I might have it, too. But then again, I don’t think you even deserve to hear it.”

He breathes in, looks at how _scared_  Ramsay is right now, and at how he can’t seem to believe that _Theon’s_ there still -

Well, fuck him.

“ _Burn_ ,” Theon says softly, and he doesn’t know if Ramsay even hears him, but it doesn’t even matter, does it?

–

“What does it mean, _he likes me_?”

Theon snorts as Rhaegal’s tail curls around Jon’s waist. He’s looking at Jon almost - well, not _lovingly_ , he’s a dragon, but the way he’s seen Drogon look at Daenerys.

“Probably more than he likes me, given that with me he just, well, pushed. Sure as the seven hells he never looked at me like that.”

Rhaegal looks back at Theon, and he’s not impressed at all. Same as Snow. They have the exact same expression, gods, and Theon’s fairly sure he’s not going insane now.

“Right, fine, you still like me as much as before, got it. Don’t worry, Snow, my sister and the _mother of dragons_  might show up here to discuss an alliance sometime soon. She’ll be glad to help you out with dragon training.”

“Fuck you,” Jon sighs, but he doesn’t try to get out of Rhaegal’s tail-hold.

Meanwhile, Ghost moves closer and crouches next to Theon and  _doesn’t_  try to eat him at once.

Theon thinks about how Grey Wind used to do the same a long time ago, and smiles openly. He hadn’t done that in years, maybe.

It feels damn good.

 

End.


	9. theon/grey worm/missandei, your friendly crack ot3 of doom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Missandei and Grey Worm aren't against occasional threesomes and Theon finds out that they're both quite good for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, this happened after 6x09 and Tyrion, punctual as a Swiss clock, being the designed Random Character who had to do not exactly nice remarks about Theon currently being *unfit* to rule. Tumblr user yol-ande sent me the following: _Concept: Theon, Missandei, and Grey Worm vanish for a night. Next morning, all three of them look well and thoroughly fucked. When Tyrion express his confusion about how this happened when both males don't have penises, Missandei answers "well, there is more than one way to pleasure a woman and if you don't know it then I'm really sorry for all of your lovers". No one ever utters dick joke in Theon or Grey Worm's presence again._ Fact is: I'm so damned done with dick jokes aimed at Theon that I might have gone there forreal.
> 
> Disclaimer: I 100% know that there's no way someone in Theon's position would realistically want sex at that point in their life especially *Theon* given the amount of shit he went through, but since the show is crack by now, this is also crack. Pretend it actually makes sense that he would. I mean, all things considered if the 6x07 talk was meant to more or less *fix* his ptsd issues then this is equally realistic, sooo. (Also at some point I realized that _Theon_ is actually the person with more technical experience in that department in between the three of them. You can see that the crack went off the roof the moment I did.)
> 
> Warnings: obviously both guys in here lack that certain part of their anatomy. Don't worry, they have a lot of fun anyway.

His sister’s disappeared with the queen and Theon - well, all things considered he wasn’t feeling that up for having dinner in the presence of Tyrion Lannister. Not at all. He’s barely up for being  _here_  at all never mind that for however much his sister has insisted about him having to keep himself together - well, he’s tried for her sake mostly, and after years with _Ramsay_  fucking Bolton he has learned to pretend fairly enough, hasn’t he. But now she’s off with their new ally doing whatever it is that they’re up to, he’s - basically standing around the palace being useless and he doesn’t really feel like drinking wine anyway, which is the one thing he can see available around the room he’s in.

Gods. He has no clue of what’s even the point of his presence here since Yara did get her precious alliance and by now he barely even cares for revenge or whatever. Maybe he should go find something to eat and avoid talking to anyone at all -

And that’s when he sees queen Daenerys’s handmaiden walk into the room he’s in. Well, no, wait, she’s not her maid, it was her translator, wasn’t she. Followed by the army commander, he thinks. How did he introduce himself? Right, Grey Worm. Not exactly what one would think a _normal_  name but all things considered Theon is the last person who can judge.

They’re also holding hands as they walk in - ah, _damn_.

He stands up at once, almost knocking the chair over - given that it’s a nice, small room with a table, wine and comfortable seats it’s fairly obvious what they’re here for. Fine, _he_  is supposed to be one of the Unsullied and as far as Theon knows - _well_. They do sadly have something in common - _now_. But whatever’s their business, it’s not his own.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’ll - I’ll just leave.” He doesn’t even look at them as he goes, after all it’s not like they care if he looks like _he used to be_  or not.

He’s headed for the door. Then -

“Wait,” she says - gods, what was her name, Missandei?

He stops at once, then turns to look at the both of them. They’re looking straight at him, but not… badly? They just seem - interested. Somewhat.

“We heard,” _he_  finally says. Grey Worm doesn’t seem fond of excessive talking.

“He means, we heard when our gracious queen allied with your sister,” Missandei explains. “ _Lord Tyrion_  seemed to have a few… issues with you.”

Theon shrugs. “Well, it was - a long time ago. And he was right about some of it. Anyways, I wouldn’t want to - take your time. I can leave.”

Missandei looks at Grey Worm - they tell each other something in… Valyrian? Maybe? Theon has no clue. Then they look at him again.

“We also heard him - well, _belittling_ you.”

Theon can’t help the flinch - he should be over it, but he’s not yet. He’s tried, he _did_ , but -

“It’s no matter. It - it happened. Nothing I can do about it.”

“No,” Grey Worm agrees. “But there is quite nothing you cannot do even if _it_  happened.”

Well, damn, it’s obvious that the man knows exactly _what_  they’re discussing. He also has _nothing_  to quite answer to that - he glances at the two of them helplessly until Missandei seems to grasp that he honestly has no clue of what to say and takes pity on him.

“What he means is also that you don’t have to let someone walk all over you for that. You say you are _not fit_  for ruling. He tends to disagree about this kind of thing.”

“Being Unsullied does _not_  make me unfit for anything,” Grey Worm agrees, and then stares at him. “Neither should it make _anyone_  unfit.”

“Besides,” Missandei says then, smiling just a tiny bit. “You don’t have to leave because we were looking for you.”

“What?”

“To ask you something.”

“To ask _me_  something?”

“Grey Worm doesn’t agree on this _unfit_  business. Myself, I happen to think you’re certainly not unpleasing to the eye.”

Theon is fairly sure he’s dreaming here. “Are - are you two asking me -”

Missandei moves closer, without touching, and - winks at him?

“If you wish to join us at least for tonight, a guard will show you our rooms. Of course, it’s completely up to you. If it’s not what you want, of course, it also is your choice and we will not take it personally. Think about it,” she says, and then she leaves. Grey Worm follows, and they’re still holding hands, and -

 _Did they just ask him to join them_?

For the first moment he feels completely frozen in horror - how or why they could even want _him_  out of everyone? _How_ , when he’s not - there’s _nothing_  of him that hasn’t been taken, used up and thrown away in the last few years and there isn’t an inch of him that hasn’t been soaked in dirt which wasn’t certainly washed away by however many baths he’s taken, and when - when -

 _When_.

Gods, he doesn’t even - how should he even - he hasn’t even felt any desire for anyone period, even just physical the way he used to back in the day, but -

Well. He’s fairly sure Grey Worm doesn’t either. Doesn’t seem to be a problem for _him_. 

And they _asked_.

Though more than that, they also said he could refuse. Which - well, that’s a relief already. He could just ask for where he’s supposed to sleep and leave, but - but the prospect that _two_  people actually went through the trouble of asking _him_  is at the same time terrifying and elating, and maybe - _maybe_. 

Sure as the seven hells they’re the first two people in _years_  who haven’t thought that what Ramsay did to him was a reason to laugh.

A part of him keeps on saying that it’s a dumb idea and he shouldn’t presume they could have anything to want with someone who’s gone by _Reek_ for months, but another -

Another says, _and what do they know_? Never mind that after all one of them is someone who as far as Theon’s heard, _actively chose to kept a name such as Grey Worm_ , he doubts he could bat an eyelid at - at fucking Reek.

And, _they asked, so they obviously want you there._  And, _what do you have to lose? You can always say no, can’t you_?

He takes a deep breath and asks directions for their rooms before he changes his mind.

–

“I certainly am not disappointed in this outcome,” Missandei says as he comes inside the room. They’re both dressed still.

“Uh, thank you? I, uh, thought you might have -”

“We were waiting,” Grey Worm cuts him. “We did ask, allowing you - some time was only fair.”

This is _not_  what he’s used to.

“No need to stay there. You can come over. If you want wine -” Missandei asks.

“Actually, maybe it’s not a good idea.” He expects her to press, given what happened last time his sister offered him some -

“I like him already more than Lord Tyrion,” Grey Worm comments. “At least there’s no nonsense about needing wine to move on with your life.”

 _All right_ , that was unexpected.

“I happen to agree with him. Good.”

There’s also a fairly large bed behind them - gods, he’s going to faint before this is over, isn’t he?

“I, uh, I have no idea -”

“Calm down,” Grey Worm says. He’s fairly impassible but he’s not even sounding condescending or like he’s fed up. “I had to learn myself. You could begin by being comfortable.”

Then he sits down on the bed. Missandei sits on the other side leaving a space in between them - gods. All right then. He swallows and goes to sit in between them, suddenly feeling like his throat has completely gone dry. Never mind that maybe he should have worn gloves, his hands are showing and never mind the one without a finger, you can see the scars all over -

He just goes and sits down. If he starts overthinking it he’s screwed.

Of course, his left hand is on Grey Worm’s side - nice. Just the best idea, putting the _maimed_  hand next to the military commander, even if maybe better him than Missandei -

She puts her hand over his own, but stops there. Grey Worm looks at his hand and nods once, but says nothing.

“ _She_  likes you,” is what he actually says instead of remarking on it when he speaks a moment later. “I imagine she would like to start.”

“Do not lie,” Missandei says, “it’s not just _me_. But however, of course. Can I?”

She moves closer. Gods, does she want to kiss him? She probably wants to kiss him.

“Can I stop you if it doesn’t work out?” He answers, bracing himself for the blow.

“You can stop _whenever_ ,” Missandei says, and she sounds like she means it, so - so he nods and she’s kissing him a moment later, but - it’s _nice_. She’s not pressing, she’s not doing anything he’s not welcoming for that matter - when he doesn’t push her away she keeps it light but doesn’t break it, and how long had it been? He opens his mouth just slightly, letting her press up a bit, wondering  _can I do this please tell me I can do at least this_  and… it doesn’t feel too wrong. It’s nice. It’s not making his blood run hot the way it used to once upon a time, but it feels good still. Then he feels hands on his hips but the touch his light and they aren’t _grabbing_ , good thing that. He doesn’t jerk away. He doesn’t break the kiss until he needs to breathe and when her hands go to his sides, too, it’s not overwhelming.

“Can I?” She asks, moving her hands to the laces of his jerkin.

He considers for a moment. Well, he imagines doing it with clothes on might be a problem. And it went fine until this point. At most they can change their mind.

“Yes,” he breathes out.

She opens the laces while Grey Worm tugs that back along with his shirt and at at _that_  he has to flinch - he’s felt the warm Mereen air against his naked skin and he knows that his back isn’t a sight for sore eyes, and that he’s still too thin even if at least he hasn’t lost all his muscle, _at least_.

For a long moment he kind of expects them to back out, not that he’d blame them, but then Grey Worm puts an arm around his waist and drags him backwards. And -

“War wounds are nothing to be ashamed of,” he says, and Theon would like to ask him _what does that even mean_  but he thinks he knows, and he doesn’t - he can’t have this conversation now, can he, and then Missandei is moving over him and running her hands along his naked and scarred chest and gods but it feels good, and when she asks if she can unlace his breeches he doesn’t say no.

“But - I mean, I don’t think you’ll -” he starts, and she shakes her head.

“I’m sure we can find a compromise,” she says, reaching for some oil on the nearby nightstand and coating her fingers in it.

 _Oh_ , Theon thinks, and he wonders, _can I handle it_ , and that’s just before Grey Worm drags him upwards slightly and they’re facing each other. That’s also when Theon _does_  admit to himself that the man might be sour but he’s also _not_  hard on the eyes at all, if he’s sincere, and he hasn’t let himself entertain that thought in years, but -

But he’s doing this, isn’t he?

Turns out, Grey Worm can kiss. _If this is half as good as he’s at commanding armies I can understand why he’s in his position_ , Theon thinks inconsequently as their mouths meet again and again and Missandei’s fingers skim over his legs.

–

Turns out, she was right. He doesn’t quite moan out while her fingers slip inside him and then outside and then right back inside because he still can’t find it in himself to make noise, he really can’t, but he thinks one can see on his face that he’s enjoying every damned second of it.

–

“Don’t you mind if -”, he blurts not long later, and Grey Worm sends him a fairly unimpressed look, but it’s not unkind.

“This is my bed, also,” Grey Worm says, “I would not agree to have you in it if I did not want to _share_.” He almost sounds sarcastic. Gods, Theon wishes he could sound like that again.

“I’m waiting,” Missandei says, but he can hear her smiling.

Gods, he hasn’t done it in _years_ , but - but he was good at this once, wasn’t he, and Ramsay sure as fuck didn’t touch his tongue, did he?

Not long later, he finds out that even if your blood’s not boiling and you aren’t aching for release, it _does_  feel _great_  to pleasure someone else.

He also finds out that he can, in fact, still make a woman howl if he wants to, and that when Missandei’s hands start running through his hair as his tongue runs over her cunt over and over again, he  _likes_  every damned second of it.

–

“You will have to teach me,” Grey Worm says very diplomatically when she’s spent and his own fingers are slipping inside her - she’s so wet it’s way beyond obscene and Theon hasn’t been self-conscious about his lack of clothes for a long time, and that’s enough to feel  _elated_. Grey Worm also seems to be not entirely jealous or feeling  _negative_  at all about Theon having just showed _his_  woman a fairly good time.

“What?” Theon blurts out, unable to keep it in. Grey Worm _smirks_.

“I have no experience with such acts, myself. And I cannot hardly ask anyone around _here_. _You_ , on the other side, seem quite skilled at pleasuring a woman, and I should like to learn from someone who knows best.”

If someone had told him a month ago that he’d do _this_ , Theon would have thought them mad.

He moves over and puts his maimed hand on Grey Worm’s wrist, and he feels himself smiling tentatively for the first time in months if not years.

“Would you like me to show you _now_?” Theon asks.

“I would,” Grey Worm replies, in utter seriousness.

–

Missandei, differently from Theon, doesn’t worry about not being heard.

–

When Grey Worm asks him if he can _thank him_  properly, Theon feels like fainting for a moment. But - he feels _good_ , he’s made two people feel good as well, he hasn’t thought about the previous two years of misery since he walked inside this room and he’s still - it’s not like he’s feeling any desire itself at all but he’s found out all over again that this can be something that makes him feel good and he doesn’t have to let what happened ruin _everything_  completely.

“Why not,” he answers, short of breath. “Do your best.”

He doesn’t quite moan out loud this time either, but as Grey Worm’s fingers bring him over the edge again and Missandei tugs at his hair  _just_  enough for it to feel amazing, he can only think, _gods, yes_.

–

The next morning over, they’re called over for breaking their fast.

Theon ends up sitting in front of both his sister and Daenerys and Tyrion Lannister with wrinkled clothes and a red mark on his neck that no one could mistake for anything different. Missandei has the face of a woman who’s had the best night of his life. Grey Worm - Grey Worm is still impassible, but he also looks - _sated_. If anything.

Lannister keeps on looking at the three of them for a long time, and then, since he can’t keep his mouth shut, he _asks the damned question_.

“Uh. Did you three - I mean, I wouldn’t want to be _wrong_ , but it quite seems like all three of you were up to something last night?”

“Yes,” Grey Worm replies curtly.

Neither of them adds details. Lannister’s eyes are so wide Theon almost wants to laugh.

“ _You_  three?”

“Yes,” Missandei replies again. “Why not?” She asks with all the calm in the world.

Tyrion looks at Theon, then Grey Worm, than back at him. “I was under the impression that neither of them, uh, owned certain  _necessary_  parts.”

Missandei finishes eating her food. Then she looks up at him with a fairly disarming smile. “My lord, there is more than one way to pleasure a woman, and if you don’t know it then I’m really sorry for all of your lovers. Should I give you a report?”

“Uh, _no_ , thank you,” Lannister replies, and he drinks his water and doesn’t add anything else.

Yara looks somewhat perplexed. Daenerys looks _amused_.

Whatever.

What Theon knows is that if they ask him to join them again, he won’t even think about saying no.

 

End.


End file.
